PS 

3503 




Class _rp2»:2L5J3^ 

Book .ATXiaZ^^ 

CopightN" ilDl_ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



The Wolves of the Sea 

AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 



HERBERT BASHFORD .' '. \\ i { 



Author of "Songs From Puget Sea," "Nature Stories of the 
Northwest," etc. 




Sax Francisco 
THE WHITAKER & RAY COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 

igoi 






'•• • • 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 


Two Copies Received 


3UN 4 


1903 


:'\'C6p>'ieht 


Entry 


.'>i/Ccxc«^ 5- 


/^(73 


CLASS ^ 


XXcNo. 


. .t, / X 


3 o 


: . . COPY 


B. 



Copyright, 1901 

BY 
HERBERT BASHFORD. 



TO MY WIFE. 



NOTE. 



Several of the poems contained in this little 
volume I have used with the kind permission of 
''Frank Leslie's Monthly," " Ainslee's Maga- 
zine," "National Magazine," and the San Fran- 
cisco " Examiner." 

H. B. 



CONTENTS, 



PAGE. 

The Wolves of the Sea 9 

The Song of the Forest Ranger 11 

The Voice of Conquest 14 

The Fisherman's Story 16 

Why Santa Claus Forgot 25 

The Russet-Backed Thrush 29 

Children 2" 

The Suicide ^1 

The Derelict ^^ 

COPALIS 36 

The Wreck of the Ferndale 40 

Mt. Rainier 45 

To the Moon 46 

Longing 47 

Eventide 48 

The Oregon Ruffed Grouse 49 

Night ^'^ 

The Passing of Autumn ^1 

On Xewbrasky's Fertile Shore -52 

The Derndest Gal I Ever Knowed 58 

Sence My Mary Went Away 61 



Tiie "Wolves of tlie Sea, 



From dusk until dawn they are hurrying on, 

Unfettered and fearless they flee ; 
From morn until eve they plunder and thieve — 

The hungry, white wolves of the Sea 1 

With never a rest, the}^ race to the west, 

To the Orient's rim do they run ; 
By the berg and the floe of the northland they 

go 
And away to the isles of the sun. 

They wail at the moon from the desolate dune 
Till the air has grown dank with their breath ; 

They snarl at the stars from the treacherous 
bars 
Of the coasts that are haunted by Death. 

9 



lo THE WOLVES OF THE SEA. 

They grapple and bite in a keen, mad delight 
As they feed on the bosom of Grief ; 

And one steals away to a cave with his prey, 
And one to the rocks of the reef. 

With the froth on their lips they follow the 
ships, 
Each striving to lead in the chase ; 
Since loosed by the hand of the King of their 
band 
They have known but the rush of the race. 

They are shaggy and old, yet as mighty and 
bold 

As when God's freshest gale set them free ; 
Not a sail is unfurled in a port of the world 

But is prey for the wolves of the Sea ! 



The Song' of the Forest Ranger. 



Oh, to feel the fresh breeze blowing 
From lone ridges yet untrod ! 

Oh, to see the far peak growing 
Whiter as it climbs to God ! 

Where the silver streamlet rushes 
I would follow — follow on 

Till I heard the happy thrushes 
Piping lyrics to the dawn. 

I would hear the wnld rejoicing 
Of the wind-blown cedar tree, 

Hear the sturdy hemlock voicing 
Ancient epics of the sea. 



THE SONG OF THE FOREST RANGER. 

Forest aisles would I be winding, 
Out be^^ond tlie gates of Care ; 

And, in dim cathedrals, finding 
Silence at the shrine of Prayer. 

When the mystic night comes stealing 
Through my vast, green room afar, 

Never king had richer ceiling — 
Bended bough and yellow star ! 

Ah, to list the sacred preaching 

Of the forest's faithful fir, 
With his strong arms upward reaching- 

Mighty, trustful worshipper ! 

Come and learn the joy of living! 

Come and 3^ou will understand 
How the sun his gold is giving 

With a great, impartial hand I 



THE SONG OF THE FOREST RANGER. 13 

How the patient pine is climbing, 

Year by year to gain the sky ; 
How the rill makes sweetest rhyming, 

Where the deepest shadows lie. 

I am nearer the great Giver, 
Where His handiwork is crude ; 

Friend am I of peak and river, 
Comrade of old Solitude. 

Not for me the city's riot ! 

Not for me the towers of Trade ! 
I would seek the house of Quiet, 

That the Master Workman made ! 



THe Voice of Concftiest. 



I hew my pathway with the Sword ! 

Slay Peace and say I throttled Crime ! 
Ring round with flame the Savage Horde ! 

Weave crimson in the robe of Time ! 

With sabre stroke and thrust of lance 
I shake the regions of Content, 

And teach the hosts of Ignorance 
The sweetness of Enlightenment I 

I search for gold and gleaming gem, 
Seize fairest islands of the sea, 

Find simple folk and fling to them 
From cannon mouth — Humanity ! 
14 



THE VOICE OF CONQUEST. 15 

I seek the realm where dullards dwell, 
I make each brutish weakling feel 

The good there is in shriek of shell, 

The blessings wrought by Fire and Steel. 

What matter if Death's pride be War, 
Or Weakness be the slave of Might ; 

Is Progress not a conqueror, 
And Power another name for Right ? 

What matter if I crush the free, 

Or if ten million men be slain ; 
Am I not lord of Destiny, 

The Anglo-Saxon god of Gain ? 



The Fisherman's Story, 



I knew he was morose that day 
Because he did not speak to me, 

But now I know he was away 
Upon the hills of Italy. 

He showed me once long months before 
The picture of a dark-eyed girl 

Within a locket that he wore — 
A little keepsake wrought of pearl. 

His life had knowm no counter gale, 
He had the aid of wind and tide, 

And dreamed that soon a snowy sail 
Should bear him to his future bride. 

i6 



THE FISHERMA^N'S STORY. 17 

^Twas but a letter — nothing much — 

A scrap of paper sent to him, 
Yet something he did clutch and clutch 

The while his dusky eyes grew dim. 

And oh, how eagerly he scanned 

Each syllable that formed her name ! 

He crushed the letter in his hand 
And fed it to the driftwood flame. 



As in a dream he sat and stared 

At night's black pall around us flung ; 

I would have spoken if I'd dared, 
But Silence had a gentler tongue. 

He did not curse as men will do, 
Of grief he gave no outward sign ; 

That bitter draught of myrrh and rue 
He drank as though it had been wine. 



i8 THE FISHERMAN'S STORY. 

WitH joyless heart he crooned a song 

Of love and hope, as day by day 
We hauled our heavy seine along 

The pebbled beaches of the bay. 

At last— ah Christ, I'll not forget ! 

I never saw the like before ! 
An empty boat — we, chilled and wet. 

And ten leagues from our cabin door ! 

Ten weary leagues — a stormy row ! 

But fishermen know naught of fear ; 
Had we ere this not faced the snow 

When winter nights were dark and drear ? 

Had we not braved the Storm-king's glee 

When winds were shrill and waves were high, 

Been battered by a raging sea 
And swung below a ragged sk}^ ? 



THE FISHERMAN'S STORY. 19 

" Oho ! Cheer up ! Cheer up !'' I cried, 
*^ We've dared the seas before, my mate. 

What matter if ill luck betide ? — 

Why, we were born to laugh at fate ! " 

He grasped his oar with one long sigh. 

Nor spoke he au}^ word to me ; 
And so together, he and I, 

Put out upon the angry sea. 

And side by side, with steady stroke, 
We fought against the veering flaw ; 

In flakes of froth the billows broke — 
The wildest wolves I ever saw ! 



Ah, how the cutting north wind blew. 
And in our faces dashed the spray ! 

The sullen twilight round us grew, 
The green shore faded into gray. 



20 THE FISHERMAN'S STORY. 

^' Cheer up ! Cheer up ! A merry row 
We'll have ere dawn of day ! " laughed I ; 

" And what care we how winds may blow ? " 
The Sea's voice only made reply. 

A silent man he left the shore, 

Nor yet a single word had said ; 
A silent man he dipped his oar 

As though it were a thing of lead. 

The night came down and still we toiled, 
The tumult fiercer grew, and now 

The swirling tide-rip foamed and boiled, 
And ghostly seas swept o'er the prow. 

The air was filled with flying spume, 
Cloud-galleons sailed down the sky. 

Strange forms groped toward us in the gloom. 
Pale phantoms glided swiftly by. 



THE FISHERMAN'S STORY 



Afar, at times, a lonely loon 

Sent quavering laughter through the night, 
While from a filmy sheath the moon 

Drew forth a sabre, keen and bright. 



Oh, it was weird ! — the seabird's screech, 
The distant buoy's warning bell, 

The white palms lifting high to reach 
A loosened star that downward fell ! 



Within my breast each moment grew 
A fear of more than wind-blown sea ; 

And lo ! that mute man, laughing, threw 
Aside his oar and leered at me. 



That moonlit face ! It haunts me still ! 

The eyes that spoke the maddened brain ! 
That moonlit face ! It sent a thrill 

Of terror through my every vein ! 



THE FISHERMAN'S STORY 



(( 



(( 



Aha! You thought me dead, you cur ! " 
His breath blew hot against my cheek ; 

Aha ! You coward, you lied to her ! " — 
I felt my limbs grow strangely weak. 



" Lorenzo ! Look ! The boat ! The boat ! "- 
But how can mad men understand ? 

My God! He leaped to clutch my throat, 
A wicked dagger in his hand ! 

That lifted knife ! Ah, yet I feel 

A horror of the deadly thing ! — 
The long keen blade of polished steel 

Against the white stars quivering. 

I upward sprang — I grasped somehow 
The hand that held the hilt of bone ; 

With panther strength he struggled now, 
A demon I must fight — alone ! 



THE FISHERMAN'S STORY. 23 



He Strove to slay and I to save 

His life and mine if such might be, 

And in the trough and on the wave 
Like beasts we grappled savagely. 

To plead were vain ; I could not hear 
My voice above the tempest's breath, 

I only knew my feet were near 
The awful, icy edge of Death. 



We fought until the dark became 
A glare of crimson to my eyes, 

Until the stars were snakes of flame 
That writhed along the lurid skies. 



We fought I know not how — to me 
All things of that mad night appear 

As vague as when in dreams you see 

The ghouls that haunt the coast of Fear. 



24 THE FISHERMAN'S STORY. 

We fought — we fought and then — and then — 
A leap — a cry — and he was gone ! 

And I alone pulled shoreward when 

The East had grown the flower of dawn. 



I knew he was morose that day 
Because he did not speak to me, 

But now I know he was away 
Upon the hills of Italy. 



IVhy Santa Claus Forgot, 



A wind from the south swept down the bay 
And pale with anger the waters turned 

As the ranchman's wife looked far away 
To where the lights of the city burned. 

Like feeble stars in that Christmas eve 
Were the pulsing lights beyond the tide ; 

" Now play with your dolly and do not grieve," 
Said she to the wee one at her side. 



*'Good Santa Claus will come to you 
This very night if you do not cry," 

And she wiped a tear like a drop of dew 
From the rosy cheek and the anxious eye. 

25 



26 WHY SANTA CLAUS FORGOT. 

" No sail ! No sail ! " and the sad wife pressed 
A wan face close to the window pane, 

But naught she saw save the sea's white breast 
And the long gray lash of the hissing rain. 

The night fell black and the wild gale played 
In the chimney's throat a shrill, weird tune, 

While into a cloud as if afraid 

Stole the ghostly form of the groping moon. 

Then the steeds of the sea all landward came, 
Each panting courser thundered o'er 

The rocks of the reef and died in flame 
Along the utmost reach of shore. 

Ah, heavy the heart of the ranchman's wife 1 
And long she listened, yet only heard 

The voice of the breakers in awful strife 
And the plaintive cry of a frightened bird. 



WHY SANTA CLAUS FORGOT. 27 

So long she waited and prayed for day 
As the firelight flickered upon the floor, 

While the prowling wind like a beast of prey 
Did growl and growl at the cabin door. 

The gray dawn crept through the weeping 
wood, 

The clouds set sail and all was still ; 
With a breast of gold the fair morn stood 

Above the firs of the eastern hill. 

The waters slept and the raindrops clung 
Like shimmering pearls to the maple tree ; 

The sky was clear and the brown birds flung 
Sweet showers of crystal melody. - 

A splintered mast and a tattered sail 

Lay out in the sun on the hard, brown sands 

And plainer than words they told a tale 

To the woman who wept and wrung her hands. 



28 WHY SANTA CI.AUS FORGOT. 

And the little girl with the gold-crowned head 
Looked up with her tear-wet eyes of blue ; 

*' Oh, please don't cry, mamma," she said, 
^' Old Santa Clans forgot me, too." 



The Russet-BacKed Ti\rusl\. 



He dwells where pine and hemlock grow, 
A merry minstrel seldom seen ; 

The voice of Joy is his I know — 
Shy poet of the Evergreen ! 

In dawn's first holy hnsh I hear 
His one ecstatic, thrilling strain. 

So sweet and strong, so crystal-clear 
'Twould tingle e'en the soul of Pain. 

At close of day when Twilight dreams 
He shakes the air beneath his tree 

With such exquisite song it seems 

That Passion breathes through Melody. 

Within his shadow-world he sings 

Away from sun and light and bloom, 

For he alone it is that brings 

Keen rapture to the heart of Gloom. 
29 



CHIldren. 



Sweet flowers along Life's rugged slope 
All little children are to me — 

White blooms upon the hills of Hope 
That drink the dews of Purity. 



Tl\e Suicide. 



A wild, weird night it was ; tlie sharp, curved 
moon — 

A shining sabre hurled across the sky 
Cut through a beggared cloud ; beneath each 
tree 

Were shadows madly dancing to the high 
Shrill piping of the wind and to the beat 

Of barren limbs that ever writhed and swayed 
Above the frosty earth, above the form 

Of her who hastened onward undismayed, 
Who stood upon the cliff's huge brow of stone, 
With floating hair a raven banner blown 1 



31 



32 THE SUICIDE. 

Loud roared the sea below and fierce he strove 
To scale that crag and climbed and surged and 
blew 
From hoarsely laughing lips great flakes of 
foam, 
Then in his awful strength reached up and 
drew 
Her close against his breast. The deep caves 
rang; 
The billows rose like mighty wings and 
seemed 
To fan the very stars so brightly did 

They burn ; the whole, vast ocean shone and 
gleamed 
With phosphorescent light — the pines upon 
The hill raised rugged arms and prayed for 
dawn ! 



THe Derelict, 



I am rolled and swung, I am rocked and flung, 
I am hammered and heaved and hurled, 

I am tossed and wheeled, I am blown and reeled 
And battered about the world. 



On the pushing tide I ride and ride 

Or loiter and loaf at ease, 
With never a care, though foul or fair, 

I follow the foaming seas. 

Men come not nigh when they pass me by 

For they fear me, everyone, 
As I cleave the gray of the dawning day 

Or drowse in the summer sun. 

33 



34 THE DERELICT. 

Past unknown isles, for miles and miles 

I wander awa}^ to where 
The iceberg lifts and the salt spray drifts 

In the freezing arctic air. 

I steal by the bars when the flame-winged stars 

Have swarmed in the upper blue 
And the glow and shine of the drenching brine 

Like white fire burns me through. 

I haunt as a ghost the rock-girt coast 

Where the bell-buo}^ loudly rings 
And the breakers leap to the mighty sweep 

Of the night-wind's sable wings. 

I shake and moan, I creak and groan, 

In the wrathful tempest when 
The old sea raves and digs deep graves 

For the jolly sailor men. 



THE DERELICT. 35 



What matters time or what the clime 

To a vagrant of the sea ? 
To live or die, oh naught care I, 

There is no port for me 1 



Copalis. 



High above the strong Pacific, rising solemnly 
and lone 

Looms the rugged rock, Copalis, like a moun- 
tain built of stone. 

Break the heavy waves against it, roaring 
through its caverns wide. 

Caverns worn by maddened waters and the moon- 
enchanted tide. 

All around are curling breakers, sifting spray 
and flying foam. 

Where the slim sea otter gambols and the gray 
gull has a home. 

All around is fierce commotion, pale forms reach- 
ing to the skies. 

Sounds of awful cannonading, haunting moans 
and battle cries. 



COPALIS. 37 

Clinging to its cragg}^ summit, fastened down 

witH massive chains, 
Bathed in Summer's yellow sunshine, drenched 

in Winter's driving rains. 
Rests a low, quaint hut, the dwelling of the 

brave Copalis Jim — 
Rests the hut whose door is opened — opened 

never save by him. 
From this airy habitation keen black eyes peer 

on the seas, 
Raven locks are tossed and tangled in the sigh- 
ing ocean breeze. 
Night and morn he scans the billows marching 

grandly far below. 
Night and morn he sees the warriors with their 

helmets wrought of snow. 
Day by day he keeps his vigil caring naught 

for any man. 
Watching ever with the patience that the otter 

hunter can. 
Oft his swarthy face grows eager, oft his rifle 

darts its flame 



38 COPALIS. 

And a dying creature struggles from that quick, 

unerring aim. 
Oft when midnight winds are calling in his mind 

sad thoughts arise, 
Thoughts of her who held him captive by the 

magic of her eyes. 
In his dreams she stands before him as she stood 

in days agone, 
Ere his heart had grown more hardened than the 

rock he dwells upon. 
And he hears her laughter ringing like the 

echoes of a lute 
Through the forest, still and sombre, down the 

vales of Quillayute. 
And again he sits beside her speaking tender 

words of love 
With the fragrant flowers surrounding and the 

waving green above. 
But the thunder of the breakers and the sea 

bird's piercing scream 
From the ledges, brown and jagged, break the 

vision of his dream. 



COPALIS. 39 

All 1 Nawanda, false Nawanda, with your artless 

maiden grace, 
Think you never of your lover living in this 

lonely place ? 
He, whose fondest hopes you shattered, now a 

hermit, mute, alone, 
Far away on bleak Copalis, on a mountain built 

of stone. 



Tlie WrecK of tlie Ferndale. 



Hoarse with callit3g, pale with anger, 
From dim dawn till set of sun 

Wind-blown billows, crowding landward, 
Shook the shores of Washington. 

Stalwart seas tramped down the beaches, 
Giant seas, each thunder-toned, 

Lunged against the rugged headlands 
While the mighty caverns groaned. 



Roared along the sandy beaches. 

Foaming, panting in the race, 

Struck the cliff's opposing ledges. 

Leaped to smJte its massive face. 
40 



THE WRECK OF THE FERNDAI^E. 41 

Leaped and flung their white arms wildly 

Then, all baffled, backward fled 
Moaning, sobbing on the shingle 

Like a mother o'er her dead. 

Night fell black upon the waters, 

Night with no star throbbing through ; 

Fiercer 3^et the waters battled, 
Stronger still the cold wind blew. 

Every pine upon the hilltop 

Cried in anguish, cried in vain. 
And the ranchman's wife peered seaward 

With her face against the pane. 

Heard the waves' loud cannonading, 

Saw at times a lifting light — 
Fiery soul of sky-tossed breaker 

Burning through the raven night. 



42 THE WRECK OF THE FERNDALE. 

Listened sadly at the window 
Thinking of the ships at sea, 

Of wrecked sailors drifting helpless, 
And the Storm-king's fiendish glee. 

Hark ! What sound above the breakers ?■ 

Was it but the sudden shock 
Of a seething sea bombarding 

Towering battlements of rock ? 

Was it but the crashing thunder 

Of a fir tree's rugged form ; 
Of a fir tree that had fallen 

As it wrestled with the storm ? 



No, ah, no ! Again the gun spoke 
And the ranchman's wife grew pale ; 

" God have mercy on a vessel 
Driven shoreward by the gale ! " 



THE WRECK OF THE FERNDALE. 43 

*' God above have mercy on them 1 

He alone can still the waves ! " 
" Hear them calling ! " " They will perish ! " 

" How the ocean roars and raves ! " 



Thns spake trembling, care-worn women, 
Sturdy ranchmen, young and old, 

As they gathered on the North Beach 
In the darkness and the cold. 

All the night their lanterns glimmered 
In the wild wind's icy breath, 

While the surf grew thick with cordage 
And the breakers talked of death. 

All the night they watched and waited 
Where the hoary foam-flakes flew ; 

One by one along the North Beach 
Drifted in the Ferndale's crew. 



44 THE WRECK OF THE FERNDAI.E. 

One by one they drifted lifeless 
To the bleak Pacific sands, 

Salt tears on their pallid faces, 

Sea-weeds in their hardened hands, 



Eyes of pity looked upon them, 

Looked npon them where they lay, 

As the morn came softly stealing — 
Saddened morn in robe of gray. 



And above the heaving waters 
In the daybreak, chill and grim. 

One lone mast yet pointed upward — 
Pointed upward unto Him. 



Mt. Rainier. 



lyike autumn leaves the years may fall upon . 
His brow from off the ancient tree of Time, 
Yet will he tower above the dust and grime 
Of earth ! The first pink petals of the dawn 
That bloomed into the flower of day ; the wan 
And hesitating moon's first skyward climb 
He viewed in silent majesty sublime ; 
The fir proclaims him king, the great seas fawn 
And weave fair garlands at his feet ; each stream 
Salutes with flashing sword; the wildest 
storm 
That beats against his massive breast ne'er 
mars 
The deep serenity of his white dream. 
At night how vaguely grim his awful form, 
High-looming in God's wilderness of stars ! 



45 



To tHe Moon, 



Oh, ever changeful and enchanting moon ! 

What mystical and varied forms are thine ! 

Tonight a peerless queen I see thee shine 
In raiment from the loom of Dreams ; yet soon 
When skies grow gray and chill winds pipe a 
tune, 

A ghost thou'l't grope beside the battle-line 

Of dark cloud-legions, or, in anguish, pine 
Upon the heated highway of red Noon, 
Or, wan and careworn, long for quick release 

From weary journe3-s through the deeps of 
night ; 

Then, calm as Sleep, wilt thou appear to me, 
Thy glowing bosom soft and white with peace, 

As though to thee had flown on wings of 
light 

The myriad souls of each gray century 1 

46 



Lonalna', 



In city walls, where duty bids me stay 

I long for woodland paths — sweet breath of 

pine, 
To see again the distant dazzling line 
Of slender, sandy shore ; I know to-day 
How fair must lie the sea far, far awa}^ 
On whose broad breast the sun-wrought sap- 
phires shine 
And sparkle in the wind that breathes of wine ; 
How shafts of gold and shifting shadows play 
Beneath cool groves that sing a slumber song, 
And clear bird notes are tingling through and 

through 
The peaceful heart of Silence ! Ah, I long 
For friendly firs that brush against the blue 
And each still night to watch the warrior Mars 
Review the vast procession of the stars ! 

47 



E'Ventide, 



The garish day is done, and faint and far 

Like jagged shadows all the mountains lie — 

White priests that saw the red sun sink and 
die; 
Leaf-hidden birds where willow clusters are 
Fling down sweet showers of melody ; a bar 

Of burnished gold from sunset's forge hangs 
high 

Above the hills and in the purple sky 
Beyond, the twilight grows one yellow star. 
Along some distant lane the cattle go 

With bells that sound like music heard in 
dreams 

Of years agone ; the moon with soul of light 
Now crowns God's highest pyramid of snow, 
While from dim ponds and softly flowing streams 

Ring out the rhyming minstrels of the night ! 

48 



Tlie Oregon Riiffed Grouse. 



A lover of dim ways in woodland shade 

Is he, whose martial music, shakes the still 
Cool air where lilies drowse and silver rill 

Alone draws light adown the gloomy glade; 

Where, deep within the hush, dank moss is laid 
That Solitude may rove from hill to hill 
With soundless tread, and where no bird's 
glad trill 

Ere breaks the iron silence God has made. 

To haunt sequestered dells is his delight 

Beneath low-drooping boughs that shadow all 
The dreamy pools; and when, care-worn, we 
come 

To where the wilderness makes of the night 
A dusky slave forever held in thrall. 
How sweet to hear the throbbing of his drum ! 

49 



Night, 



Beloved Night ! Calm, soothing summer Night ! 
Your presence breathes of peace ; your raven 

hair 
Falls over me and tender as the prayer 
Of kneeling virgin in dawn's hol}^ light 
Is your carressing hand on Sorrow's white 
And trembling lips, or furrowed face of Care. 
Sweet slumber nestles on your breast and 
where 
Your dark robe trails, in valley or on height, 
The petals of your dream-flowers flutter down 
To sleeping eyes. I love j^ou, love 3'ou so, 
IMother of mine ! And when the day is done 
I watch to see the first gleam in 3^our gown 
Of lambent jewels that thrill and throb as 

though 
The pulse of God beat through them — every- 
one ! 

50 



The Passing of A\it\iinn, 



The glory of her reign is o'er and old, forlorn, 
A faded, tattered gown around her drawn 
She sits with drooping head and broods upon 
The time ere her rich robes were rudely torn 
And cast aside ; a beggar, wear}', worn 

Is she, whose garments like a gorgeous dawn 
Once la}' along the hills ; her pride is gone 
And naught is left her but to mourn and mourn 
Amid her ruins. Oft there comes to me 

From out the wood her low, despairing wail 
When thoughts of that imperial attire 
Of other days bring keener agou}^, 

When all exultant she heard nation's hail 
The queen of Color with her soul of fire. 



51 



On Ne^'^brasKy's Fertile Siiore, 



Oh, I am so orful humsick! An' I feel so wretcHed 

queer! 
Eplirum, lie has gone a ridin' on a wild eclectric 

keer, 
Rhody — that's my only darter — she has gone 

an' left me, tew, 
Both a trapesin' 'round like ijits — wonder what's 

th' next they'll do ? 
They don't seem t' think they're darin' Provi- 
dence right in th' face, 
Ridin' without hoss er engine 'n' goin' at a break 

neck pace. 
Course I needn't stand here waitin', both insisted 

I should come, 
But I vow I'll not be reckless when I am so fer 

from hum. 

52 



ON NEWBRASKY'S FERTILE SHORE. 53 

Clear out here by th' Pacific, jist as fur as we 

kin git 
An' if we stay here much longer I declare I'll 

hev a fit. 
It's th' most deceivin' kentry as ever' one'll say 
Ever' drap o' water salty in th' hull o' Frisco 

bay. 
Oh I've tramped these pesky sidewalks till my 

feet is lame an' sore, 
An' a yearnin' ever' minute fur Newbrasky's 

fertile shore ! 

Then they brag about their scenery! Californy ! 
Humph ! O dear ! 

Scenery! Well, jest speaking plainly, I don't 
see no scenery here. 

Nothin' but th' mount'in ranges rarin' up so 
tarnal high 

Thet a buddy kint look nowheres 'cept the mid- 
dle o' th' sky. 

Mount'ins, everlastin' mount'ins, hills 'n' woods 
'n' rocks 'n' snow 



54 ON NEWBRASKY'S FERTILE SHORE. 

Where th' scenery is they're braggin' on I^m 

th' one as wants t' know. 
Let 'em. stand in Lincoln county jest aback our 

cowyard fence, 
An' if they don't say there's scenery they haint 

got a mite o' sense ; 
Why yuh kin look fur miles around yuh an' see 

nothin' but th' flat 
Level prairie in th' sunshine kivered in its grassy 

mat. 
That is scenery — yuh kin look there jest as fur 

as yuh kin see 
With no hills a interposin' er no rocks, er airy 

tree, 
Oh, I've told my husband, Ephrum, that I'd 

gallavant no more 
When ag'in I'd sot my foot on old Newbrasky's 

fertile shore. 

Then I'm worried so 'bout Rhody, fur she's 
missin' ever' day 



ON NKWBRASKY'S FERTII.E SHORE. 55 

All her lessons on th' melojun that paw bought 

fur her last May, 
An' she could perform amazin'; she could play 

" Old Hundred " nice 
An' another song beginin' ''Happy Day that 

Fixed My Ch'ice." 
Yes, th' singin' teacher told me as we parted at 

th' keers, 
He was shore she'd play th' organ in th' church 

'fore many years. 
Now her notion's highkerflutin', a planner she 

wants now 
An' her paw sez he will get it soon as he kin 

sell a cow, 
Sez he kin dispose o' Muly — I jest told him no 

sir e-e 
Not fur no new-fangled nonsense — Muly's my 

cow, an' you see 
He's jest got a spite ag'in her 'cause she's got a 

lengthy tail 
An' in fightin' skeeters sometimes whisks it in 

th' mil kin' pail. 

LofC. 



56 ON NEWBRASKY'S FERTILE SHORE. 

Oh, I'll be the gladdest mortal when I reach th' 

kitchen door 
Of that dear old farmhouse standin' on New- 

brasky's fertile shore ! 

No, I don't enjoy th' city where the wimmen 

folks is dressed 
Monday an' clean through till Saturday all in 

their Sunday best, 
I jest like to ketch my wrapper up 'n' pin it 

'round my waist, 
Carin' not a single copper if my shoe string 

comes unlaced, 
Then go out an' milk old Mul}^ an' turn out th' 

spotted calf 
While th' chickens giggle 'round me an' th' 

speckled roosters laff, 
Then go in th' summer kitchen, set me down 

an' churn a spell, 
Till time comes t' put th' victuals on an' ring 

th' dinner bell. 



ON NEWBRASKY'S FERTILE SHORE. 57 

Yes I love th' peaceful quiet olth' farm where 

it's so still, 
Nothin' but th' ducks a quackin' 'n' pigs a 

squealin' fur their swill, 
Nothin' but th' geese a clackin' 'n' the bawlin* 

o' th' cows, 
An' th' nickerin' o' th' bosses as they're comin' 

t' th' house. 
Oh I want t' leave th' city with its racket an' its 

roar 
An' git back there t' the silence o' Newbrasky's 

fertile shore! 



Derndest Gal I E^ver Kno^wed 



Derndest gal I ever knowed, 
Neatest gal I ever seen, 
Lived down in the Red Ravine 
Jest below the county road. 
Guess she wuz about sixteen — 
Sophy wuz her name an' she 
Wuz ez cute ez cute kin be. 

When I'd go t' town I brung 
Her the biggest lot o' stuff, 
Pop corn, likrish, 'n' enough 
Candy fer t' fill a room. 
Once she hit me with a broom 
Cuz I kissed her on the cheek. 
An' the midget wouldn't speak 
T' me fer, perhaps, a week. 
58 



DERNDEST GAL I EVER KNOWED. 59 

When I'd raise my eyes to hern 
Jeminny! my cheeks 'ud burn 
An' git redder 'n' a beet. 
Oh, she looked jest powerful sweet! 
When I'd try to call her dear 
Why I'd feel so doggoned queer 
That I'd lean ag'in' th' fence 
Zif I didn' hev no sense 
Twist th' buttons on my vest, 
Ast her who she liked th' best, 
Ast her if it wuzn't Bill 
Er old Jones thet run th' mill, 
Keep a hintin' 'round yuh see 
Till she'd up an' say 'twuz me. 

I wuz jellus o' Jim Pike 

Jellus ez th' very deuce 

Though there didn't seem much use 

Fer his freckles wuz so thick. 

An' his hair wuz so like brick 

Thet a feller one day said 

Yuh could toast a hunk o' bread 



6o DERNDEST GAL I EVER KNOWED. 

Ef yuh'd hold it nigli his head. 
He wuz awkarder 'n' sin, 
Never fished along the crick 
But he'd hev t' tumble in. 

Sophy 'peared t' pity Jim 

While I thought if I wuz him 

I'd go off 'n' hide somewhere 

Else put plaster on my hair. 

But this homely, lantern-jawed 

Lookin' cuss stood 'round 'n' chawed 

On a plug o' terbacker 

Half his time 'n' talked t' her 

Of his love till I jest told 

Him t' mosey an' he rolled 

Up his sleeves 'n' landed me 

Plumb betwixt th' e3^es, then he 

Went to Sophy an' sir, she 

Married him ! The pesky mule ! 

Wuzn't she a reg'ler fool ? 

I wuz jest tetotally bio wed — 

Derndest gal I ever know^ed ! 



Sence My Mary Went A-way, 



Ah sir! You should just have seen her, 

Seen her long and silky hair 
Shinin' like a shock o' sunbeams 

Wavin' in the summer air ! 
Then her cheeks seemed bloomin' roses, 

An' her fingers — don't yuh know — 
They was white as maple branches 

Wrapped around by winter's snow. 

Eyes so big an' blue an' honest 

Alius gazin' int' mine, 
An' a heart that never faltered 

Whether rain or whether shine. 
Cheerful words for ev'r'body, 

Smilin' all the livelong day. 
Do yuh wonder that I'm lonely 

Sence my Mary went av/ay ? 

6i 



62 SENCE MY MARY WENT AWAY. 

I remember how we used to 

On them sunny afternoons 
Stroll together down the woodland 

Listenin' t' th' merry tunes 
Played by little, jolly breezes 

Foolin' 'mong the tree tops high, 
An' she thought that river y under 

Was a strip o' fallen sky. 

Course its only my odd fancy 

Anyhow it strikes me so, 
Thet things now haint half so cheery 

As they was a year ago. 
The trees air green, its mighty sartin 

But to me the^^'re alius gray 
An' the birds seem sorter silent 

Sence my Mary went away. 



SENCE MY MARY WENT AWAY. 63 

Why th' pathway down th' valley 

Where we wandered hand in hand 
Is to-day a sorter gloomy one 

I kint quite understand, 
Then the crick thet giggled softly, 

Shook itself 'n' run along 
Now goes slippin' past the willers 

With an orful solemn song. 

Them old hills, too — eh ! Yer goin' ? 

Sorry t' hev kept yuh here. 
Good by ! Strange th' air looks misty ! — 

Mebby — why — 'twas just a tear ! 
Like as not j^ou think me foolish 

An' don't keer for what I say, 
But I feel, oh God, so lonesome 

Sence my Mary went away ! 



The Western Series of Readers 

EDITED BY HARR WAGNER 

Designed £;specially for Supplementary Work in 

HISTORY AND NATURE STUDY 

In Our Public Schools 

All Fully and Beautifully Illustrated. Each Volume Contains from 
Eighteen to Twenty-Six Full-Page Pictures. 



EXTENSIVELY ADOPTED AND USED IN THE SCHOOLS OF THE PACIFIC COAST 
VOL. I 

PACIFIC HISTORY STORIES 

By HARR WAGNER 

Fop Fourth and Fifth Grades 

During the short time that this book has been on the market its 
sale has been phenomenal. It is pronounced, by ail of our leading 
educators, to be excellently adapted to the work for which it was 
intended— a supplementary reader in history study in the Fourth 
and Fifth Grades. Fully two thirds of the counties in California 
have this book on their supplementary and library list. 



VOL. il 

PACIFIC NATURE STORIES 

By HARR WAGNER and DAVID S. JORDAN and others 
For Fourth and Fifth Grades 

A companion volume to the above. It contains some eighteen most 
interesting and instructive sketches of our Western animal and 
vegetable life, all told in a delightfully flowing style and written by 
the greatest educators of the West. As a reading book in nature 
study it cannot be excelled. 

VOL. Ill 

NATURE STORIES OF THE NORTHWEST 

By HERBERT BASHFORD 

State Ivibrarian of Washington 

Fop Sixth and Seventh Grades 

This book covers a more extended field than Volume II, and is not 
strictly confined to the Northwest. Among the interesting stories 
will be found those of The Black Bear, The Kingfisher, The Clam, 
The Meadowlark, The Seals, etc., all of which are of interest to any 
pupil in the West. The illustrations are works of art and true to 
nature. 



VOL. IV 

TALES OF DISCOVERY ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE 

By MARGARET GRAHAM HOOD 

For ThiPd and Fourth Grades 

The Tale of History could not be more charmingly told than it is in 
this volume, which is intended for the lower grades. A Third or 
Fourth Grade pupil will read it easily, and with interest. Its eight 
chapters are devoted to the early history of our great Western 
empire, and tell of characters and events, but little touched upon by 
the general school history. The child here acquires a taste that 
leads him to further research. 

VOL. V ■ 

TALES OF OUR NEW POSSESSIONS, THE PHILIPPINES 

Written by R. VAN BERGEN 

A Thirty-Year resident of the Orient 
Author of "Story of Japan," Etc. 

Illustrated by P. N. BOERINGER 

War Artist Correspondent at Manila 
for San Francisco Papers 

For the Sixth, Seventh and Eighth Grades 

A timely book for the young. We employed to write this volume, 
a man whose thirty-year residence in' the Orient made him 
thoroughly familiar with the people and their customs. Its thirty- 
eight chapters, all richly illustrated by the best arti:jt we could secure, 
will give the pupil an excellent idea of our new country— 
a knowledge which will prove of great financial value to him. 

VOL. VI 

STORIES OF OUR MOTHER EARTH 

By HAROLD W. FAIRBANKS. Ph. D. 

Illustrated by MARY H. WELLMAN 

With 27 Full Page Illustrations. An Intensely In- 
teresting and Instructive Work on Nature Study 

For the Sixth and Seventh Grades 

Can the bcudy of Geology be made interesting to the young? It 
certainly can when written in the style of this book. It contains 
some thirty-eight chapters, every one laden with knowledge but all 
reading like a story book. The chapters on The Yosetnitc Valley, 
The San Francisco Bay and The Colorado River in themselves alone 
warrant the purchase of the book. 



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JUN 4 1903 



